


Chocolate Hearts

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Love Confessions, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: At first, Grima is skeptical when he gets a love letter and some chocolate in his locker. But if there's one person who can convince him, it's Chrom.





	Chocolate Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been on a date in my life but I love Valentines Day because I love seeing all the new ship art and fics that get produced for the occasion. 
> 
> So... here's my offering ^^
> 
> I had to recall my own painful high school memories to write this (ugh, _chemistry,_ why did I TAKE it) so I hope it was worth it and that you enjoy the fic.

“Alright, which one of you little shits thought this was funny?”

Grima slams a hand down on the crappy cafeteria table where his “friends” (if they can be called that; Grima’s positive they only stick with him for his father’s money) are sitting with their crappy cafeteria lunches. 

“What’s that, a love letter?” Gangrel snarks. When Grima moves his hand away, though, he nearly chokes. “Holy fuck, it _is_?”

“Let me see,” Aversa demands, snatching the paper up. She holds it away from her by the corner as though it disgusts her, but she would never stoop to scrunching her pretty face. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m no good at poetry, but I like you.”

Gangrel begins cackling. Aversa, again, would never laugh in such a hideous manner, but her smirk conveys the same emotion.

“And this!” Grima throws a throws a chocolate heart onto the table. Its red foil wrapping is slightly misshapen, as Grima had been clutching the meltable candy in his palm for quite some time.

“How _sweet,_ ” Aversa drawls. “Someone’s got a _crush_ on you.”

“As much as I’d just love to take credit for this,” Gangrel says with a toothy grin, “me and Aversa don’t have a death wish. Guess maybe there’s really some dumbass out there thinking you’re boyfriend material.”

“Unlikely.” Aversa scoffs. “They probably got the wrong locker. Who’d be stupid enough to want to screw Grima?”

Grima opens his mouth, ready to snarl a retort, when he’s suddenly forced to stumble back. The flash of blue in his periphery tells him who has run into him even before he turns.

“Chrom, you are the clumsiest athlete the world has ever known,” he grumbles.

Ah, Chrom. Grima’s lab partner in their shared chemistry class. He would make a great stereotypical dumb jock if only he would have picked a normal sport to play. Fencing and archery wouldn’t normally grant him much popularity in a high school like theirs, but his handsome features really go a long way for him. That, and the inheritance he’s sitting on. Apparently money is the only thing parents are good for in this hellhole of a city.

Chrom quickly straightens himself up, brushing his clothes off more out of nervousness than anything considering he didn’t actually get them dirty.

“Sorry, Grima.” Chrom’s hand reaches out to brush lightly against Grima’s shoulder, as though Chrom thinks he needs to steady him. But it lasts for such a short time that Grima isn’t even able to glare. “Hey, I’ll see you in class, right? I hear we’re doing titrations today.”

“And you don’t want to drop the beaker of acid directly into your lap, which you will if I don’t stop you,” Grima says, rolling his eyes. “I get it. I have no intention of being truant… often. Without good cause.”

There are only three months left until graduation. Grima knows exactly how many classes he can miss without jeopardizing his diploma.. Every move he makes is calculated to achieve his desired ends. Of course, the only end he has in mind is an end to the terrible monotony of “secondary education” altogether. He does not care so much about what happens after, so long as he is free.

“Good. I miss you when you’re gone,” Chrom says. He smiles, somehow managing to look like an artistic masterpiece even though his words are so patently ridiculous. “Er, anyway, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Yes…” Grima agrees, narrowing his eyes as Chrom walks out of the cafeteria. He’s probably heading to class early. He’s the sort of student that teachers favor. He is unfailingly obedient and always eager to volunteer his aid. One might expect such a “teacher’s pet” to engender resentment amongst the student population, but no, Chrom’s popularity transcends even social norms. The other students adore him just as much as the teachers do, perhaps because his obedience and helpfulness extends to them as well.

But of course, Grima is only speaking generally. Not _everyone_ loves Chrom.

“Who does he think he is, your mother?” Aversa scoffs. “Checking in to make sure you make it to class safely… Actually, even mothers aren’t that bad!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Grima says dismissively. His mother died in childbirth. He sometimes wonders what would have happened if she had lived. He even imagines, sometimes, that his father died in her place, and he was instead raised by the quiet and gentle woman that he knows almost nothing about. (The truth, though, is that most likely nothing would change. After all, this was a woman who fell in love with Validar Reflet. How could she possibly be any better than him?)

"Hey, you weren’t really serious about not cutting today, right?” Gangrel asks. Grima doesn’t mind the interruption of Aversa’s useless conversation, but Aversa glares as though she does.

“He actually will kill himself if I don’t help him, so yes,” Grima says. “I am seriously attending class today.”

“But that’s not _your_ problem,” Gangrel complains. “Let the idiot die! What about _me?_ I can’t skip classes without you. You’re the only one of us with cash!”

“It sounds like that’s also not _my_ problem,” Grima says. 

“Asshole,” Gangrel mutters.

“Oh, shut up.” Grima ought to let the idiot stew about it. But then he’d have to deal with the headache that would cause.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out the only thing his friends care about: his wallet.

“This will get you gas,” he mutters, tossing a few bills in Gangrel’s direction. “And I’d better not see your face around here again today or I’m taking it back, you greedy little—”

Gangrel snorts.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll use it responsibly. Wouldn’t want to bankrupt your whole family or anything.”

Aversa laughs.

“You couldn’t do anything to even come close to hurting the Reflet family,” she says. “I bet we could buy a car, crash it for fun, and Grima’s dad would still forgive his perfect little boy.”

Grima grits his teeth. He has no doubt that his father would not be angry. That would require too much emotional effort. No, his father would simply write off the cost and give him more money, because that’s his idea of parenting. Besides, he still thinks that Grima will follow in his footsteps, become a businessman like him… He thinks Grima will be under his control forever, and he surely expects to see a return on his investment eventually…

Gods, Grima despises that man. If he weren’t determined to see high school through to the end, he would have disappeared from this city the instant he turned 18. He doesn’t care about business, or money in general beyond the cost of living, and he certainly doesn’t care about his father’s opinion. In just a few months, he will be free as a bird, and he will leave his nest forever.

If he does not, he fears he will be forced into his father’s cage for the remainder of his life.

The school bell suddenly rings, announcing the end of their lunch period. Grima is glad for the excuse to escape his current train of thought, and he is even more glad for the excuse to escape his current companions.

He quickly gathers up his things, even the love letter and chocolate heart that he can’t take seriously. Aversa is probably right; surely some freshman slipped the items into the wrong locker. But although it doesn’t properly belong to him, he decides to pop the candy into his mouth all the same. It tastes delicious, and he deserves it for having to put up with this bullshit love letter in the first place. It isn’t his fault if other people don’t watch where they’re putting things. It isn’t his fault if some people can’t be bothered to deliver gifts in person. If some idiot goes home today crying because of the misunderstanding, it serves them right for not being more careful.

He thinks these things as he stalks his way upstairs to the chemistry classroom. By the time he reaches his seat, his face is contorted into a scowl. It must be particularly severe, for even Chrom can’t bring himself to smile in greeting.

“What’s wrong?” Chrom asks, though he keeps glancing at the crumpled paper on top of Grima’s notebook like he knows exactly what Grima is upset about. He probably overheard Grima in the cafeteria, actually. Grima has a booming voice when he’s angry, or so his friends have told him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Grima mutters. He picks up the letter, dropping it casually on Chrom’s side of the desk. “I received this by mistake. I don’t suppose you know the author?”

“Er…” Chrom quickly scans the letter. “Why do you think I’d know who wrote it?”

Grima snorts..

“Don’t you know everyone in this school?” he asks. “I thought perhaps you might have some idea of who’s crushing on who. It seems like the sort of thing you’d care about.”

“Oh…” Chrom blinks. “Er, well… Do _you_ have any guesses?”

“Hmm…” Grima pauses to consider the matter. “Miriel’s locker is next to mine. Everyone who’s known Vaike for more than five minutes knows he’s interested in her. He’s oblivious enough to slip something into the wrong locker, although his grammar is usually much worse than what was in that letter. He could have gotten someone else to write it for him, though… I might suspect Sumia, but she likes _you,_ and your locker is in an entirely different hallway, too far for even her to mistake it for mine… Or maybe… No, your sister’s not stupid enough to prank me, and if she were she’d slip a frog in there, not a love letter...”

“So... Basically, none of those possibilities quite make sense,” Chrom says. “Have you, er… Have you considered that whoever gave this to you might have seriously meant it for you? Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, after all.”

Grima shoots Chrom an incredulous look.

“Perhaps it doesn’t occur to someone like you,” he says, “but some of us do not _get_ valentines.”

Chrom bites his lip. Perhaps this really is the first time he’s thought about it. Chrom has so many admirers that he must be quite busy every 14th of February. But for Grima, it’s just a day like any other. He could almost forget the holiday entirely, if only he didn’t have to watch everyone else lose their minds over it. Every year, it’s the same thing.

“But let’s say there was someone,” Chrom says. “Someone who just can’t hold their feelings back anymore. Would you hear them out?”

Grima hates that he imagines it. Some bright-eyed fool, flushed and desperate, begging for his attention… Someone who doesn’t think of him as a bottomless bank account, someone who doesn’t already hate him for being a bitter cynic, someone who actually cares about what Grima feels.

It’s an unrealistic fantasy, and he wishes Chrom hadn’t put it there. Still…

“I’d listen,” he says, turning his gaze towards his notebook as he spots the teacher heading to the front of the classroom. “As long as it’s the truth, at least. But then, you can hardly call it a ‘confession’ if it’s untrue.”

Chrom opens his mouth to respond, but that’s when the teacher begins to speak. And Chrom, perfect student that he is, will not talk over her.

It’s just as well. The instructions on how to complete a titration are the same as the last time they did the activity, but most of the students were utter failures at following the instructions back then, too. It might help if the teacher bothered to write them down instead of merely barking orders at people, but then again, the assignment probably wouldn’t fill the whole hour if she were more efficient about it.

“Ready to neutralize some acids?” Chrom asks with a grin, raising a beaker as though offering a toast.

In a flash, Grima is clutching Chrom’s wrist.

“There are so many problems with what you’re doing right now,” Grima says. “But perhaps the biggest one is that you appear to be handling a strong base without wearing _gloves._ ”

“You’re not wearing them, either,” Chrom points out.

Grima is well aware of that. Chrom’s skin is warmer than his own, and Grima’s fingers tingle where they touch it.

“I haven’t had time to put them on yet,” he mutters. “I had to save you from yourself, first.”

Chrom chuckles.

“My hero,” he says. He sets the beaker down, and Grima lets go of him. “You know, I don’t think I’d be passing this class without you…”

Grima frowns as he puts on his gloves. Chrom sounds sincere, but the words don’t make any sense.

“You’re not _that_ bad at the subject,” Grima says. “You get the majority of the questions right, at least. That’s what most of your grade comes from.”

“Ah, right.” Chrom looks down at his notebook. They have a set of assigned problems for this activity, too. “I guess what I meant wasn’t so much literal as… Er, nevermind. I just meant that I’m glad you’re my lab partner.”

“Here,” Grima passes Chrom his safety goggles, ignoring the previous statement as he was requested to. Chrom is better with his sports than with his words, but Grima doesn’t care for flowery speech anyway. Awkward phrasing or not, when Chrom looks at him with those earnest blue eyes, Grima almost feels like he’s actually important…

It’s how he makes everyone feel. It’s why he’s so widely adored. Really, his face is too powerful of a weapon.

“Put them on before you melt your eyeballs out,” Grima mutters, quickly turning away to put on his own goggles. 

“Ha, but do I really even need my eyes for this?” Chrom blinks with faux innocence, and Grima is glad their goggles put a double barrier between him and Chrom’s charm. “All I have to do is follow your lead, right? I bet I could do that with my eyes closed.”

He demonstrates, and as such misses the sight of Grima rolling his eyes.

“Very funny,” Grima mutters. “What happens when I say ‘measure 10 milliliters of hydrochloric acid’? You don’t know where it is.”

Chrom frowns. With his eyes still closed, he grabs a pipette and lets his hand hover over a beaker.

“Wrong,” Grima says. He can’t resist grinning smugly.

“Then what is it?” Chrom asks, in good humor despite the smirk he was faced with as soon as he opened his eyes. “You’re telling me this isn’t hydrochloric acid?”

“It’s sodium hydroxide,” Grima says. “As you would know if you read the label.”

He points to the side of the beaker, which is clearly labeled.

“I see…” Chrom rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Maybe I do need my eyes today.”

“As much as I’m sure the school would love to have us doing blindfolded chemistry, I think we’ll have to wait for another day.” Grima places another beaker near Chrom. “Here’s the hydrochloric acid. And I really do need 10 milliliters in each of these.” He gestures to four empty flasks along the edge of the desk.

“Ah.” Chrom looks at his notebook and nods. “And then 20 milliliters of water, right? I can do that. You want to grab the other materials?”

“Yeah.” Grima gives his partner a nod before heading to the front of the room. For all that he swears Chrom would die in here without him, the truth is that Chrom is fairly adept at the practical application of chemistry. (The theory is another story, but Grima can explain it to Chrom better than their textbook can anyway.) He and Grima have a synergy together that is unmatched by anyone else in the class.

It’s funny. Chrom may not have meant what he said before about not being able to pass without Grima, but for Grima it’s almost certainly true. He wouldn’t be able to pass this class without Chrom. Not when the only thing that drives Grima to keep coming to this stupid school at all some days is the thought of Chrom’s stupid face lighting up upon seeing him.

Chrom really does make everyone feel special. That is why Grima cannot fault his admirers, no matter how delusional they may be to think that Chrom would ever smile for them alone. Grima is not nearly so foolish; he knows that he is no more special than any other rich bastard that nobody likes. And he knows that he will soon be parted from Chrom for good. After graduation, Chrom will go to college. Grima will go to who knows where. And what are the chances their paths would ever cross again? Fate is not that kind.

“Er, I think this one might be a bit too dark,” Chrom says, picking up one of the flasks after they’ve finished titration. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“And neither was I, obviously,” Grima mutters. He takes the flask from Chrom, his fingers tingling as they always do when they brush against Chrom’s skin. His cognizance of Chrom’s skin is perhaps one of the factors leading to his distraction, but Grima doesn’t really care that their results are not perfect. “It’s still better than the others’. Look at Gaius and Nowi’s. All four of their solutions are vividly pink.”

“Nowi probably thought it was prettier that way,” Chrom says.

“And Gaius doesn’t give a shit,” Grima adds, smiling as Chrom chuckles.

“I think he’s just disappointed he can’t drink the results,” Chrom says. “He became interested in science after we made sugar crystals in middle school, but I don’t think the subject has ever lived up to his expectations since.”

Grima chuckles along with Chrom. His good mood lasts even after class ends and they part ways to their separate lockers. The odd love letter is far from Grima’s mind now, and indeed it might have sat forgotten in his bag for the rest of the semester had he not received _another_ note the very next morning.

_I’ll skip the rhyming this time. Grima, I don’t want to live the rest of my life pretending I haven’t fallen in love with you. Will you meet me here by your locker at 12:15?_

It has his name in it, so it isn’t a mistake… But is he really meant to believe that someone out there has fallen in love with him? He almost hopes it’s a joke, even if such a thing would be in poor taste. To hear a confession would be a dream, but the aftermath would be a nightmare. Love can’t fix Grima’s life, but it might well ruin another’s.

He nearly decides not to go.

But what is his alternative? He can sit at a shitty table with his shitty friends. Gangrel sneers and insults the anonymous author when Grima tells him of the new note. Aversa laughs and says he’s going to be stood up. 

But they don’t understand Grima. They never have. No matter how stupid it may seem to listen to a confession he intends to reject, he is compelled to see the matter to its end. The truth may not be pleasant for anyone, but Grima has no respect for those who hide from it.

So at 12:15, Grima leaves the cafeteria early.

The halls are quiet, and his footsteps echo. That is how he knows that the person who suddenly rounds the corner has been waiting there for some time; he heard no other footsteps coming.

“Grima…” Chrom comes to stand in front of him. He slams a hand too forcefully against the locker next to him, but he still pretends to look casual as he shifts to lean against it. “Er… Hi…”

“Chrom…” Grima is capable of putting two and two together, and his pulse quickens. He could not ever bring himself to even hope for a situation like this, but now that he is facing it, he cannot suppress the surge of longing that grips him. “Don’t tell me you came here to greet me…”

He grits his teeth. The truth is more painful than Grima expected. Chrom is the only person Grima has ever admired, the one and only person that Grima truly desires. And yet he dreads what he knows Chrom will say.

“Y-You know why I’m here,” Chrom says, stumbling over his words nervously. “I mean, you read what I wrote you… right?”

If Chrom would use his brain for half a second, he would realize how ridiculous his question is. Grima would not _be_ here right now if he hadn’t read Chrom’s note. Still, Grima can’t help the satisfied smirk that crosses his face. He knows perfectly well that Chrom is not a complete idiot; his nervousness now is obviously because of _Grima._ And gods, there is no better feeling than having Chrom under his power.

“You think you’re in love,” Grima says. “I already told you I’d hear you out, didn’t I? Though I’m not sure why you couldn’t have said something yesterday.”

Chrom flushes.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it,” he says. “We’ve been in this school together for almost four years now, and you’ve never so much as looked at anyone…”

This statement is untrue, but Grima cannot fault Chrom for not seeing what he was never supposed to.

“But I’m glad you’re willing to listen,” Chrom continues. “Because I want you to know what I feel for you. Even if…”

Chrom clearly anticipates his own rejection. Grima respects him for his willingness to say it anyway.

“Then go on,” Grima says. 

“I’m in love with you,” Chrom breathes. “I didn’t realize it at first. I was impressed by your wit the moment I met you, long ago as it was. I’ve admired you since then, but until this year, it seemed like fate didn’t want us to meet. And then we got assigned to be lab partners. I was excited. Who wouldn’t be? I finally had the chance to get to know you. And now that I do know you… Gods, you’re too incredible for words. You’re the smartest person in this school, and you’re honest, and absolutely trustworthy—”

“Trustworthy?” Grima scoffs. “Don’t you know my reputation?”

He’s widely considered a scumbag and an asshole, after all. Getting kicked out of a private middle school just before graduating really starts you off on the wrong foot in high school. But it wasn’t Grima’s fault. His former “friends” wanted him to teach them how to fight. But as soon as they started punching each other out for real, they all blamed Grima. He had only ever done what was asked of him. They were the ones in the wrong…

“Reputations aren’t reliable,” Chrom says.

“Not even yours?” Grima asks. “Are you telling me you _aren’t_ the selfless angel that everyone thinks you are?”

“No!” Chrom exclaims, grimacing. “I’m not a saint! And _you’re_ not a devil. No matter what anyone else thinks.”

Chrom steps even closer, now coming into Grima’s personal space. Grima’s eyes widen as Chrom cups his hand gently against Grima’s cheek.

“You seem to think it’s impossible for anyone to like you, let alone love you,” Chrom says. His eyes darken “And that makes me want to drive my sabre through the chest of everyone who ever made you believe that.”

Grima exhales sharply. _Life_ has shown him that nobody will care for him if he isn’t useful to them. 

Chrom lowers his hand, taking a step back.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same about me,” he says. “But please don’t act like nobody’s ever been interested in you. Now you know that isn’t true. I’d stay at your side forever, if you’d take me.”

“...You make terrible decisions when you’re in love,” Grima mutters.

“I don’t think it’s a terrible—” Chrom starts.

But that isn’t what Grima’s talking about.

In an instant, he has Chrom pinned against the lockers.

“This is what you want?” he growls. “Forever? Seriously?”

The kiss he presses to Chrom’s lips is harsh and too quick. No amount of pent-up desire in his body can transform him into a gentle romantic; if that’s what Chrom wants, he will be disappointed.

Chrom does not look disappointed.

“Yes,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “But what do _you_ want?”

What _does_ Grima want? It never seems to matter. He never gets what he wants; he just makes the best of what life throws at him.

The saying is “when life gives you lemons.” He doesn’t know what to do now that life has offered him something sweet.

Under Chrom’s unguarded gaze, Grima feels something warm in his chest. Like melting chocolate, his heart is becoming somewhat of a mess.

“I want you to be mine,” he says, his voice lowering. He wants to have Chrom’s attention to himself, to be more important than all the others. “Even if I drag you down with me. Think about your future, Chrom. Don’t be an idiot. If you promise yourself to me, you can’t go back on your word, or… Or else, I...”

He lets out a frustrated growl. If Chrom of all people ever betrayed him, he would never have faith in the world again.

“Grima,...” Chrom says. “I couldn’t go back on my word even if I tried. I love you, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”

“... Show me, then,” Grima demands quietly. “Show me that you truly believe I’m special.”

Chrom pauses.

“I’ll show everybody,” he says, and then he bends to capture Grima’s lips. It’s better than the one Grima gave, because Chrom isn’t in a rush. Chrom places his hands on Grima’s cheeks, holding him in place. Grima closes his eyes, and…

A bell sounds. The sound of hundreds of feet suddenly pounding against the floor makes Grima open his eyes again. Chrom stills, like he expects Grima to push him away.

Understanding dawns, and Grima merely chuckles.

“Convince me harder,” he pulls back just long enough to whisper. 

And so the first thing the students leaving the cafeteria see as they spill out into the hall is Chrom, his eyes locked with Grima’s, deepening what was already a powerful kiss.

“Is that—” someone gasps. Other voices murmur to each other. They may not understand why the handsome, charming prince of the school is making out with a ne’er-do-well, but they cannot deny the truth before their eyes. Chrom is giving himself to Grima.

The moment seems to last an eternity, but it’s eventually broken when someone forcibly pushes past the two of them.

“We have six and a half minutes to get to our next class,” Miriel says. She opens her locker, uncaring that Grima would very much like to push Chrom back against it right now.

“I guess we do need to get our things…” Chrom says. He sounds as disappointed as Grima, but there is an undeniable spark of happiness in his eyes. “That is… if we’re going…”

Grima’s expression morphs into an incredulous grin.

“Are _you_ suggesting we skip class?” He laughs. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen…”

“Er, I mean…” Chrom blushes.

“But you know me so well, don’t you?” Grima continues, smirking. “Of course we’re not going. I call this ‘good cause’.”

“What the _hell,_ Grima?” Aversa’s voice suddenly screeches behind him. He whirls around to see his so-called friend in a greater fury than he’s ever seen from her before. “I never thought I’d see a guy like you lose your head over a pretty face. I thought you were better than all the other dumbasses who lick Chrom’s boots, but I guess you’re not.”

“Aversa, chill,” Gangrel says. “Grima wouldn’t seriously choose some lame dork over us, right?”

Grima narrows his eyes.

“And why wouldn’t I choose him?” he asks. “He’s given me more today than you’ve given me in four years.”

“We’re your only friends!” Aversa exclaims. “Is that not enough?”

“You’d be alone without us, you piece of shit!” Gangrel adds.

“He would not,” Chrom suddenly interjects. He places a hand on Grima’s arm. Grima would dare to call it possessive, even. “You have a lot of nerve to call Grima your friend. Day after day, all you do is insult him. He deserves far better than you.”

“Who are you to talk?” Aversa retorts. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“ _You_ don’t know anything about me. And you don’t even like the person you think I am,” Grima growls. He’s known the truth for a long time. There is no reason for him to continue calling Aversa and Gangrel his friends, except that their words indeed ring true. They are his only ones. It is not easy to cast them aside.

But he knows that something has changed today. It is them or Chrom. And the choice is an obvious one.

“Don’t pretend you’re heartbroken,” he says. “You might miss my father’s money. You won’t miss me.”

“You think you’re better than us? Bastard,” Gangrel spits. He clenches his fists. “You know, I always thought you seemed a little too high-and-mighty to really have been expelled for fighting, but now I get it. I envy those brats who got to get their punches in on you!”

Aversa claps her hand against Gangrel’s shoulder.

‘Quit while you’re ahead, stupid,” she mutters to him. Locking eyes with Grima, she continues. “It was obvious you never fit in with us, anyway. It was our bad for thinking you deserved a chance. So go ahead and leave us. When you get bored of your boy toy, you’ll realize your mistake. But it will be too late then. This is the end, Grima.”

It truly is the end. Grima feels no regret as Gangrel and Aversa walk away. Chrom’s hand is still on his arm, its warmth a surprising comfort to him.

“I’m sorry…” Chrom says softly. He often apologizes for things that aren’t his fault, and perhaps now that Chrom has promised to stay with him, Grima will have the chance to break him of the habit. But for now, tired as he is, he just shakes his head.

“Call me cruel, but I’m… relieved,” he says. “Relieved that I don’t have to keep pretending that…”

Grima grimaces. Glad as he is that Gangrel and Aversa are no longer his problem, he can’t deny the ache he nonetheless feels in his chest. They were his friends. They were supposed to have cared about him.

“They didn’t treat you like they should,” Chrom says with a frown. “I hate them for that, you know… Every time I saw you all together, they were putting you down. I wish… I wish that I could make it right for you. But I can’t. All I can do is promise you that I’ll do better. I’ll show you how much I love you every day, alright?”

Grima closes his eyes, chuckling lightly. He believes that Chrom is telling the truth, and yet he cannot quite believe that everything can truly end up alright. It was a miracle enough for Chrom to confess to him; can it really last? Will they make it even to graduation? And what about after? The “forever” that Chrom spoke of is such a distant fantasy that Grima barely dares to imagine it.

And yet…

He thinks of the silly love letter and the chocolate, trinkets that Chrom gave just to see if Grima would even _listen_ to him. He thinks of the courage it must have taken for Chrom to speak his mind, believing that he would be rejected. He thinks of all the effort Chrom put in just to get _this_ far...

“That’s a lot for you to prove,” Grima says, blinking his eyes back open to meet Chrom’s bright blue ones. “But if anyone can do it… Certainly, it’s you.”


End file.
